


Q.E.D.

by graiai



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Animal Traits, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22587670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graiai/pseuds/graiai
Summary: Estinien is no longer shaped like a man.
Relationships: Gaius van Baelsar/Estinien Wyrmblood
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Q.E.D.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DuelCast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuelCast/gifts).



Estinien is no longer shaped like a man; not an Elezen man, at least. His cock is tapered sharply at the tip, and Gaius’ hand slips as he grasps it, expecting the full width of a head like his own and every other cock he’s seen in this life.

“Is it senility or arthritis which gives you pause?” Estinien says, far too impatient for one with his literal manhood at Gaius’ mercy.

“This may come as a shock to you,” says Gaius sardonically, taking hold of it properly, running his thumb over the tip that is near to sharp, “but _I’ve_ never pleasured a dragon with my hand.”

Estinien scoffs, and Gaius thinks perhaps it is too much an insult to call an Ishgardian a dragon, but Estinien then only rolls his eyes, seemingly deciding he isn’t worth the trouble of an argument—or he simply isn’t willing to sacrifice his orgasm for that even more fleeting pleasure of telling Gaius off. “And you believe I have?” he says, tilting his hips upward as Gaius forms a rhythm as best he can with the ridges that prevent any strokes being exactly smooth.

“It’s been some years since the war, has it not?” Gaius rebuts.

“We are at peace with the Dravanians,” Estinien says, with an uneasy emphasis on _peace_ much the same way Gaius still speaks the name _Eorzea_. “We’re hardly _bedfellows_.”

Gaius all but laughs. He meant only that in the past several years Estinien must have taken himself in hand, but if Estinien thinks Gaius believes him to be making a habit of lying with dragons, perhaps letting him continue might offer some amusement in otherwise an unobjectionable but tedious exchange of favors.

“Why not?” Gaius challenges. “It’s my understanding your soldiers were forbidden relations with dragons in wartime.”

Estinien grunts, and Gaius at first couldn’t know if it was a response or simply a reaction to a twist of his hand, stroking up his cock from base to tip now that the fluid had made his hand slick enough to do so. “It was an act of heresy. Is, for all I know.”

“A useful rallying point for morale, I’d imagine.” Gaius knows the broad strokes of the causes behind the so-called Dragonsong War, yes, but he’s not studied it in depth: it was relevant to his campaigns only inasmuch as Ishgard sought no enemy in Garlemald so long as they remained focused on the Dravanian front.

“I suppose,” Estinien agrees reluctantly, “but must we speak of this?” But he does not make to pull away and finish the job himself, nor even take Gaius’ hand in his own to guide him.

“I’ve respect for your commanders,” Gaius continues, both his tongue and his hand unabated. “Young men forbidden to act on their desires make formidable soldiers. The Miqo’te of Gyr Abania gave me more than their share of trouble.” He tightens his hand around the wide base of Estinien’s cock, thick enough even his fingers barely close around it. Estinien hisses; close, then, despite the talk.

“After they lost,” he muses, “a good number of them joined the legion.” Estinien opens his eyes to affix him with a scowl. “It’s no lie. It seems they found the restrictions I placed on my soldiers’ conduct a good deal more bearable than that of their own people.”

Estinien lets his head fall back, hitting the metal wall of their makeshift shelter with a reverberating thud. “Get _on_ with it.”

“Or what? You’ll threaten again to kill me?” Gaius curls his lip as he curls his hand, giving now quicker, focused strokes. A joke in bad taste, perhaps, but mere weeks spent in Estinien’s company has proven beyond doubt the lauded dragonslayer, savior of Ishgard, is even more a stranger to taste than Gaius himself.

“I should have done long ago, so perhaps _I_ would know peace.”

Gaius presses his thumb once again to the slit in the head, rubbing the pad of his index finger along that place where upon any other man he would expect a vein. For all Estinien lacked such features, and Gaius knew naught himself of how a dragon might prefer to be touched, it had the desired effect: Estinien parted his lips slightly, his eyelids heavy, the wiry muscle of his thighs and torso pulling tight where he had shoved his armor aside to offer Gaius his cock. “Your knowledge of the custom far exceeds mine. I know only that war makes for strange bedfellows, and I would expect you of all men to take pleasure where it is offered.”

Estinien curses in his own dialect, and in his native accent he elides too many syllables for Gaius to make out more than an invocation to the Fury—but it is obvious enough his intention when his breath catches and his hips stutter, and he spills into Gaius’ hand.

Gaius laughs gently and releases Estinien’s cock no sooner than his shudders calm, in need of a rag to clean them both of the mess. “Quod erat demonstrandum.”

Estinien sighs deeply, for one not generally inclined to dramatics. “How many times must I tell you I do not speak Garlean?” he grumbles, and motions toward the laces of Gaius’ trousers so he might return the favor done him.


End file.
